


Measure Of A Man: Aftermath

by jessebee



Series: Measure Of A Man [2]
Category: Law & Order
Genre: Angst, Hangover, M/M, Morning After, Partnership, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:09:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike faces the results of his little bender … and Lennie.  Sequel to "Measure Of A Man."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Measure Of A Man: Aftermath

 

 

 

He wished he could say he didn't remember, but the hell of it was that he did. Not real clearly -- you didn't suck down as much beer as he had and remember things good and sharp -- but clearly enough to leave him in no doubt that he'd said something stupid.

 

Something way more than stupid. Something with the potential of being disastrously stupid.

 

So as Mike Logan dragged his ass into work the next day, he was expecting that his partner Lennie Briscoe would be -- different. That the sleepy eyes would slide away from him; that Lennie would be, well, uncomfortable, somehow.

 

But he wasn't.

 

And that was weirder, and scarier, than if he had.

 

Lennie was already at his desk, just hanging up the phone, and Tony Profaci was on his way out as Mike came into the squad room. "Whoa, Mike, ya look a little rough there," was Tony's opening shot. His sunny cheer was sickening, and his voice just cranked the volume of the brass band playing in Mike's skull.

 

"Stuff it, Tony," was Mike's rejoinder, though he knew was a mistake the moment it left his mouth.

 

"Ooh, somebody pissed in your Wheaties, eh Mikey?" Profaci came back, his good humor not dented a bit. "I'll say a prayer for ya, Lennie, you're gonna need it."

 

"Ha ha," Mike sneered, skinning out of his leather coat. Lennie watched from across their joined desks, but didn't say anything until Mike had slouched into his own chair and Profaci was gone.

 

"Here."

 

Mike looked up to see his partner dangling a small, familiar ring of keys toward him. Mike's spare set of apartment keys.

 

"Ya might need these sometime."

 

Light winked in tiny flashes off the silver metal; Mike couldn't help squinting a little as he reached out and took them, then made himself meet Lennie's gaze. "What, no smart remark from you, too?" he said, and winced. Jesus, he sounded like a pissy five year old.

 

But Lennie just raised an eyebrow. "With the night I'm figuring you just had? How'm'I gonna top that?" The sardonic half-smile left no doubt at all that Lennie knew exactly how Mike had felt.

 

How he still felt. 

 

Mike laid the keys down on his desk blotter, lowered his head onto his hand, and nearly groaned. This was worse than if Lennie _had_ said something. Hell, couldn't the damn man just -- _Fuck. Let's get this over with._ "Just say it, Lennie, get it out before you choke on it. Tell me what an ass I was so we can get on with the day, all right?"

 

But Lennie didn't, and after some moments Mike had to look up. His partner was watching him with a calm, knowing expression.

 

"Glass houses, Mike," Lennie said finally, his voice a low hum that was strangely soothing to Mike's aching brain. "I'm the last guy to beat you up for tying one on, 'specially considering the reason. Any other time, maybe," he quirked a momentary, evil-looking smile, "but for last night?" A shake of the iron-gray head.

 

Mike was just beginning to relax a little when Lennie continued, the evil-looking smile returning. "'Sides, it was fun learning all your dirty laundry."

 

It was plainly meant as a joke, but Mike felt both his jaw and his stomach drop three floors anyway. Holy Mother, _had_ he said something even worse that he didn't remember? "What the hell did I say?" It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

 

Lennie paused, then cocked an eyebrow again. "Nothin' too incriminating. We still don't know where Jimmy Hoffa is."

 

That didn't help one damn bit. Mike leaned forward. " _Dammit_ **,** Lennie, what did I _say_?" he hissed, and almost winced again. God, could he sound any more desperate?

 

Both Lennie's eyebrows went up this time and his gaze sharpened, the dark eyes lasering in on Mike as if he were a perp, picking him apart to look for the truth. Then he gave a slight nod, as if he'd found what he was looking for.

 

Mike's stomach dropped another couple of floors. _Congratulations, Logan. Wanna bet you just gave away the freakin' farm?_

 

"Mike." Lennie glanced quickly around the room, which was oddly empty at the moment, then leaned forward. His voice was low and intense, pitched to carry no further than the two of them. "Nothing you said last night makes any difference between us as partners or as friends, either one, y'hear me? Nothing. 'Sides, confessions made under the influence of a case of beer aren't usable as evidence, so just forget about it."

 

"In fact," he leaned back again in his chair with his normal comfortable slouch, head tilted, a smile threatening. "I'm not remembering a lot of last night, myself, anyway. Getting old, y'know, memory's getting fuzzy." 

 

The rush of bemused relief made Mike very glad he was sitting down. "It's all that club soda. The bubbles'll rot your brain," he said slowly, his mouth coming up with the wiseass comment on autopilot. 

 

Lennie … didn't mind.

 

Lennie had heard him, had parsed out what Mike hadn't quite admitted, and he … didn't mind. Or he didn't mind whatever it was that he thought Mike had meant, anyway, whether he had the truth of it or not. But either way, he was okay with it.

 

Jesus. How in the hell had Mike gotten this lucky? He closed his eyes, breathed. Opened them again. "Lennie -- "

 

Lennie shook his head, tossed air away with one oddly graceful hand. "Coffee-klatch's over. Let's see if you can manage to get some actual work done, huh?"

 

Mike blinked, then found a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. "Speakin' of coffee …. "

 

He pushed himself up out of his chair and wandered over to the coffee maker, got his cup, poured himself a helping of the engine oil that passed for java in this place some days. Turning to lean a hip against the edge of the coffee stand, he looked at the desk against his and the man sitting behind it.

 

 _You're a surprising guy, Lennie Briscoe_.

 

He watched his partner fondly for a moment, seeing the lighter gray strands in Lennie's near black hair, steel-sheen like the shine off the barrel of a fine gun. Seeing the broad shoulders, the long-fingered, elegant hands. Seeing the shadow of flex of muscle below the dress shirt as the older man reached for a file.

 

And something in Mike's chest gave an odd bump and a funny sort of twist.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, shit.

 

Talk about getting hit outta left field …. Because now he had another problem.

 

 

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Measure Of A Man: Aftermath  
> 3/23/04  
> jesse  
> [sequel to Measure Of A Man. You pretty much gotta read that one for this one to make any sense. Many MANY thanks to LSB for the picky-ass beta.]
> 
> Title: Measure Of A Man: Aftermath  
> Author: jesse  
> Rating: R  
> Genre: Angst, drama, pre-slash  
> Pairing: Briscoe/Logan  
> Spoilers: L&O mothership, S3, "Manhood"  
> Warnings: If you're unsure about the whole guy!love thing, why are you here?  
> Word Count: ~1200  
> Summary: Mike faces the results of his little bender … and Lennie. Sequel to "Measure Of A Man."
> 
> Note: Originally archived on FF.net.


End file.
